The old doors of the villages are more than simple entrances; they are silent witness of lives that transit between adios and return, past and present. Often well worn with the passage of time, these doors have seen family generations gone in pursuit of a better future, and have received back with their characteristic squeaking those who, after years, have decided to return. 

 For those who left, the doors were the last barrier before entering the unknown. Perhaps, when they closed them they held back tears of farewell, or maybe a last look laden with promises of returning. They represented the threshold between the safety at home and the challenges of a new world. Each time they opened to let someone go through those doors knew that their wood would preserve, like a mute echo, the pain and hopes of those who left, leaving behind too what they were in exchange for what they could become.